


Twenty Years Later

by Butterfly_Beat



Series: Semantics [4]
Category: Were the World Mine (2008)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-19
Updated: 2011-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-26 06:49:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/280010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterfly_Beat/pseuds/Butterfly_Beat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Thank you for RSVPing to the 20th Reunion of the Morgan Hill Academy Class of 2007.</i></p><p><i>We look forward to seeing you on June 16.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty Years Later

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hllangel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hllangel/gifts).



> As always, this is fiction, ergo, not fact.
> 
> This particular piece was written (and originally posted) as part of the 14 Valentines Project in 2010. The topic of the day was Politics.

When the invitation arrived in the mail, Cole hadn’t been sure whether to be concerned or amused. He’d managed to weasel his way out of the first three major reunions at Morgan Hill; he figured with a little luck he could push his hat trick into an overtime masterpiece (and wow, Minnesota had rubbed off on him to a disturbing degree, although after fifteen years you’d think he would be used to it by now). Morbid curiosity provoked him into opening the envelope instead of just tossing it in the recycle. Morbid fascination quickly transformed into abject terror as he read the fancy script on the pre-printed card inside:

_Thank you for RSVPing to the 20th Reunion of the Morgan Hill Academy Class of 2007.  
We look forward to seeing you on June 16._

It wasn’t that he had any particular aversion to his former classmates. In fact, he still kept in contact with most of them. He just had no love for MHA itself, which had as much to do with it being located in Kingston as it did with traumatic high school memories. He’d been thrilled when Cooper’s parents had moved to Arizona; he could finally go to Thanksgiving Dinner without the awkward questions about when they’d be visiting _his_ parents. In sixteen years of being mostly out of the closet, Cole’s mother had spoken to him all of three times. While she was the only member of the family who seemed to mind his choice of partners, she had also been the heart of the family in the logistical sense, even if her affection had often been expressed in less than desirable ways. His father and sister were both highly self-contained, and far enough away from Minneapolis that their paths never crossed unless Cole made the effort to visit _them_.

Twenty years was a long time to look back on, and it was sobering to take a moment and really think about what that kind of figure even meant. If you included his masters, he’d been out of school for as long as he’d been in it. He’d logged twelve years with his current employer, and owned the roof over his head for ten (if one discounted that pesky thing called a mortgage, at any rate). And, of course, there was the seemingly never-ending stream of house-pets which were eternally grateful for the latter. Cole still couldn’t figure out where Cooper had developed the fondness for strays, because it sure as hell hadn’t been there when they’d been kids. Five presidential elections come and gone, and with them a whole slew of legislation. No denying it, things had changed.

Cole liked to think he’d changed, too. That growing up had done him at least a little good, once he’d managed to find his own feet. He had Cooper to thank for that, all the more because Cooper had spent so long making a point of actively standing aside every time a major decision surfaced. Oh, Cooper didn’t neglect his own self-interest, but there was never the pressure of being an “us” when Cole made his decisions. It was always clear that whatever either of them chose, they were doing their own thing for their own reasons. It had taken Cole a long time to figure out that convenience was another name for co-dependancy, but in the end it had worked out rather nicely, so he wasn’t in a position to complain.

* * *

“And you’re sure everything’s all right?”

“For the last time, everything’s _fine_. I swear, if you call one more time before you’re supposed to be back here, I’m getting this number disconnected.”

“Right, of course. I’m totally unjustified in my concern. Because you’ve never accidentally burned down a theatre before due to faulty lighting.”

“Okay, first? That was the set designer’s fault, and it was pyrotechnics and not lighting that caused the problem. And second, that was _ten years ago_. Oh, and the company owner made a killing on that insurance claim, thank you very much. When are you going to let that go, man?”

“Right around the time I stop signing your checks.”

“Figures you’d bring that up. I-”

Tim never caught whatever Jerry said next, because his phone was unceremoniously yanked out of his hand. “Jerry? Yeah, this is Jon. My husband and I are about to be late to a very important meeting, so he’s going to have to call you back.”

Tim couldn’t make out the exact words of the response, but he presumed that it was something like “No, he really doesn’t. I’ll just talk to him when he gets back.”

“Thanks for being so understanding, Jer. I’ve got to run, but say hi to the wife and kids for me.” Jon disconnected the call, a predatory smile blossoming on his face as he slipped his arms around Timothy’s waist. “So, Jerry tells me that you’re free for the weekend.”

Tim shifted, losing several inches and about a dozen years in a heartbeat. “Not exactly. I mean, you know what he’s like, and there’s a lot riding on this production. What if-”

Jon silenced him with a kiss, taking advantage of the fact that Tim’s poor posture put them on almost-even footing height-wise to savor the connection. “I get it.” He pressed another kiss to the edge of Tim’s lips, skirting his cheekbone on the way to the sensitive skin just under his ear. “But there’s no rule saying we have to spend the whole weekend at the reunion.”

“Hm?” Tim’s response was vague, and Jon buried his grin in another caress. Even after almost twenty years, it was nice to know that some things never changed.

“Well, your mom _did_ take the kids for the weekend. How often do we get an opportunity like this?” Jon bit down gently at the skin where Tim’s neck and shoulder met. “I think we should take advantage of that. Don’t you?”

“I hadn’t, mmm, hadn’t really thought about it like that.”

Jon pulled back, dropping his hands to rest them on Tim’s shoulders and shaking him gently. “The production will still be there on Monday. Jerry’s reckless, but he’s not stupid. You wouldn’t be working with him if he was. And the reunion won’t be that bad. If it is, we’ll leave early and spend the spare night in Chicago, okay?”

“Promise?” Tim hated how young he sounded, wanted to take the question back as soon as it had passed his lips. He _wasn’t_ the awkward outcast with something to prove anymore, and he knew it. But the idea of going back to Morgan Hill, even if it did hold just as many good memories as bad, meant going back to that part of life that no one really wants to remember. He’d worked on enough shows focused on the ubiquitous nightmare that was coming-of-age to know that much.

Jon didn’t call him on the hesitance, though. Instead, he mimed “cross my heart” and leaned up to press a soft kiss on the tip of Timothy’s nose. “Promise.”

* * *

The strangest thing about the Morgan Hill Class of ‘07 reunion was that it wasn’t the gathering of almost-strangers that such events are supposed to be. Nearly everyone showed up to the twentieth reunion, and Cooper had talked to at least half of them within a couple of months (several more were on the “Holiday Cards Of Obligation” list). He knew about Nate’s three kids, and that Russ had been through three wives before meeting Sheila-definitely-the-one. He also knew that Taylor’s kid brother had run away from home at seventeen, and that the only contact Taylor had with him was a Christmas card every other year to reassure the family that Stevie wasn’t dead. And then there was Brad, who wouldn’t be attending the reunion any more than he’d been at any other gathering the rugby team had conducted, formal or informal, for the last 12 years. His was the empty place, the reminder that none of them were getting any younger, and that all the glory and honor and commendations in the world didn’t make that awkward pause in conversation any easier to bear.

To put it in the gentlest possible terms, it had been a struggle to get Cole to come with him to the reunion. Cole had always been the more reticent, when it came to the reunions, but he’d usually come around as long as they weren’t meeting in Kingston. Cole had only ever agreed to Thanksgiving Dinner at the Stevens’ House under duress, and pointedly _never_ tagged along when Cooper went home for Christmas. Cooper understood Cole’s reasons for not wanting to go back to Kingston, but that didn’t make them any easier to maneuver around. Not even after Cole had finally decided that they were more than just roommates who spent more nights sleeping together than apart.

Cooper didn’t actually care that Cole had taken longer than most marriages lasted to decide that they weren’t just friends-with-benefits. Frankly, he’d spent a long time enjoying the flexibility to date now and then; he was all for casual relationships, at least when everyone knew what the rules were, and Cole had spent years encouraging him to “get out more.” Cole had just never felt the need to follow his own advice, and eventually Cooper had lost interest in short-term and just-for-fun. Make-up sex could work wonders when it came to arguments like whether or not they really needed a fourth cat or a PS-Ultra.

The good news was that Cooper really did think that the reunion weekend had been worth it. Perhaps more than a bit stressful, in all the little ways that conventions and conferences seemed to be, but it felt good to put high school into the perspective that it deserved. The twentieth wasn’t his first MHA reunion, but it was the first that he’d attended with Cole. They’d been married eight years, and whether or not the paperwork had been signed for health insurance reasons, at a certain point Cooper felt justified in playing the “spouse” card. Well, that, and he’d spent three weeks watching the mail to make sure that Cole didn’t find-and-trash the invite like he had the last two times.

Tomato, tomahto.

* * *

Despite his insistence that they attend the reunion, Jon had no complaints about the fact that most of the weekend was spent at the B&B in Kirkland. They drove in for the Saturday night dance, and again for the Alumni Rugby Game on Sunday, but that was the extent of their participation in the festivities. For one thing, it wasn’t as if they needed to catch up with anyone - sure, it was nice to see the old gang, but having a reputation for being free with their guest room meant that Jon saw more of his high school, college, and law school buddies than he’d really ever expected to. Hell, Frankie had spent two years surfing their couch on-and-off as she bounced between marriages and careers before settling into a mostly-stable income.

Jon didn’t need a reunion to show him how far they’d come, or even to reinforce just how incredible it was that he and Timothy had survived the odds and were still together. Half his classmates from law school made quite impressive livings on the fact that any given marriage had a 50-50 chance of success. All the same, it was nice to be able to stroll the old hallways and remember that once upon a time rugby had been at the top of his priority list, with getting into a good college running a distant third to the vain hope that Tim would notice that he was being noticed. He’d never quite figured out what had sparked his decision to stick his neck out with Timothy, and God knew he’d tried when Betty had gone through her “Happily Ever After” stage and demanded to know, in detail and often, exactly how her adoptive fathers had met/fallen in love/etc etc etc. He was all for honesty, and even something of a romantic at times, but there were things about the lives of teenaged boys that she was better off not knowing. For all their sakes.

If he hadn’t already been aware of the fact that he’d passed rather more physiological milestones than he cared to think about, the Alumni Rugby Game made it very clear that there were distinct differences between eighteen and thirty-nine, not the least of which was how easily his joints declared World War Three in the wake of sweet, sweet victory.

“You know that men hit their peak in their thirties, right?”

Tim didn’t even bother to make a noncommittal noise, instead just dropping an ice pack onto Jon’s already swelling knee. If it hadn’t been painful just considering the act, Jon would have made at least a token complaint about the cold. As it was, he was forced to settle for opening his eyes and glaring at his husband through the space beneath the arm draped over his head. “I’m serious. Weight lifters and wrestlers hit their best years in their thirties, it’s when you have your greatest strength development potential.”

“So, you’re lying there like a beached whale - admittedly, a very pretty one - for, what, the hell of it?” Jon didn’t even have to bother moving to see Timothy’s expression, the tone had been perfected over twenty years. “Put the ice pack on, wait for the Advil to kick in, and if you’re good I’ll let you talk to Sam when I call Mom to see how things are going back in dreamland.”

“Why do I get Sam?”

“Because everybody knows that you love Betty more, and the kid’s confidence took a hit last week when report cards came out.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. It took me an hour and a half to figure out how to schedule a math tutor around his soccer practices. I’d do it myself, but I’m tied up at work for the next month on the Henderson thing.” Jon shifted his arm enough to be able to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Tell me again why we decided we wanted kids?”

The bed shifted, and Jon braced himself so that he didn’t roll onto his side as Tim settled next to him. “Because between my mother and your grandmother, discretion was the better part of valor. Remember?”

Jon did remember, with the kind of clarity associated with severely traumatic memories that didn’t quite warrant the blissful ignorance of repression. Not bother to stifle his groan, he rolled onto his side facing away from Tim, taking care not to dislodge the ice pack. Tim patted his shoulder in sympathy. Just as he was drifting off, Jon heard the faint but unmistakable sound of a call going through. "Kevin, it's Timothy. Is Mom there?"

Ah, yes. Back to reality.

~ Finis ~


End file.
